


You

by Fire_Sign



Series: Phrack Fucking Fridays [18]
Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: 2nd person POV, F/M, Phrack Fucking Friday, pff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-02
Updated: 2018-02-02
Packaged: 2019-03-08 09:03:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13454955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fire_Sign/pseuds/Fire_Sign
Summary: You believe in things you cannot see; electricity and magnetism and the current between two people. You believe in friendship; some lifelong, others a passing moment. You believe in love; for you it has always been a passing moment, though you are not so cynical as to believe that’s universally true.A 2nd person POV fic for Phrack Fucking Friday.





	You

**Author's Note:**

> A discussion about 2nd person point-of-view in fiction led to SOMEONE *cough* challenging me to write one. As I had a PFF ficlet that was feeling too repetitive in its current form, I decided to see hwo different it felt with a perspective shift. It was... well, I think everything has the potential to be a learning experience, we'll leave it at that. LOL

You believe in things you cannot see; electricity and magnetism and the current between two people. You believe in friendships; some lifelong, others a passing moment. You believe in love; for you it has always been a passing moment, though you are not so cynical as to believe that’s universally true. You believe that sex is a pleasure, a celebration, a comfort, a conductor for that current. 

You believe all of this, and yet you stand in this hotel room, with this man, and find yourself uncertain. Uncertain what this means, uncertain how this will all fit. Friendship, love, current. All are bubbling in your chest, behind your lips, beneath your skin; all of these, and something else as well. 

The moment stretches and you do not move; you know it must look ridiculous from the outside, two people standing inches apart, not touching, not speaking, but from your perspective it is surprisingly familiar. Then there’s a sway of his body, a response in yours, hands lacing together without intent. _Conductor_ , you think, seeing the feelings in your chest blossom across his face, recognising the final component. Hope. 

It seems so obvious to you, in that moment; this is new, but it is also everything you’ve ever believed in. The two are not mutually exclusive. So you kiss him. Run your free hand against the front of his trousers, feeling the way he groans against your mouth, feeling the roughness of wool and the hardness of his erection. Inch fingers beneath the waistband of his trousers, seeking skin; your fingertip against his hip is a spark and things turn frantic. Clothes off, teeth and nails and bodies flush, his lips on your neck. 

You reach the bed blindly, bounce as you hit the mattress, both of you laughing, draw closer once more. You fuck. It’s a pleasure, a celebration, an assertion. Your back arches when you come, his name falls from your lips, and he redoubles his efforts, muscles straining; you nip his shoulder, make him lose control, hips stuttering as he shouts your name. It is an unexpected indulgence, the passion and the volume taking you by surprise, though perhaps it shouldn’t; you are no stranger to the depths of this man. 

It is with tenderness that you hold him close in the aftermath, one hand stroking his spine, the feel of skin and muscle familiar. You’ve been here before, though the man is different. Many things are different.

You believe in things you cannot see; electricity and magnetism and the current between two people. You believe in friendship and love and embracing the pleasures of sex. And here, in this moment, you believe you might see the future. 


End file.
